The Lost Years
by ArtThistle
Summary: Dr. Spencer Reid should never have been sent on that assignment. He should never have seen the things he saw or felt the things he felt. But he did. And now he's back with the team. At least as much as a shell of a man can be. But can he let go of the past or will he slip into his old habits?
1. Chapter 1

"The Spencer Reid who left may not be the Spencer Reid who came back."

"What do you mean?"

"He has suffered immense physical and psychological damage. Based on some of the scars, it appears that he was held and tortured for over a year."

Aaron Hotchner ran his hand over his face. He'd had his misgivings about the undercover operation from the beginning. Hotch hadn't been privy to any details, but he knew that Cruz had been adamant Reid was the only one who could do it. "You're needed here, Aaron, and Morgan looks too much like an agent," he'd said. After four months, they lost contact with him. It was a year and a half before he was found, unconscious, in front of a hospital. He'd spent a few weeks in the hospital and a few more months in therapy to determine if he was fit for duty. Now, almost two years after he'd left, it was time for him to come back.

"Is he ready to come back?"

"I don't know if he'll ever really be ready, but he thinks he is. He feels that he can do his job."

"What's your professional opinion?" After Hotchner's question, the woman paused. She seemed to be thinking hard about her answer.

"If it were up to me, he'd have a nice big severance and early retirement. Barring that, returning to his regular life is probably the best thing for him." Dr. Martina stood up from her chair and shook Hotchner's hand. There was nothing more she could give him. The best she could do was give him that small comfort. She couldn't tell him that Spencer Reid exhibited unusual aggression or that she was afraid of his cold eyes. Just thinking of his face nearly made her retch.

Penelope Garcia stuck her head in the door of his office and waved her tablet to get his attention.

"Hotch? We're ready." She was talking about a new case. He wondered how long it would be until Reid rejoined the team.

Six men between the ages of 76 to 82 had been murdered by gunshot wounds to the forehead after being crucified. There was no sexual assault and no DNA left on the scene. They were all killed in abandoned warehouses. No evidence of being restraints and tox reports came back clean. It appeared as though the men had gone there willingly. But why would someone do that to themselves?

He posed the query out loud, not expecting an answer. Certainly not the one he received.

"Some people don't need a reason to die." The voice was hollow, with a gravelly tone. Rough. The agents seated around the table turned, shocked, to see Spender Reid standing in the doorway. From the angle he stood at, they could see only his right side. He didn't turn to look at them, but he didn't need to for them to see the bags under his eyes, the slouch to his shoulders, and the shagginess of his brassy hair. His long black coat seemed too big for him. He shrank in the shadows, a ghost of who he used to be. Hotch remembered the psychiatrists words. This was not the same Spencer who had left. This was a shell.

"Spencer…" Garcia's voice petered out, her big eyes sparkled with tears. It was hard to tell if they were happy or sad. Hotch hadn't had an opportunity to tell the team he was coming back. He thought he'd had more time. And yet there he was, a broken man.

It wasn't until he turned to face them that Hotch got a glimpse of just how broken Reid was. Across his left cheek, a wide pink scar tore his face. Several more thin scars slithered out from his hairline. Though his scarf covered his neck, along the base of his jaw was more scarring.

He was tortured for over a year, Dr. Martina had said. How had he lasted that long? Why would they have kept him alive? There were so many unanswered questions. But Hotch didn't have time for them. This was a case he was sure they would need Reid's help with.


	2. Chapter 2

" _Everyone is going to hurt you. But some people are worth the pain." Spencer Reid closed his eyes. He prepared himself for the knife he was certain would land in his chest. But it didn't come. When he opened his eyes he saw the girl kneeling on the ground, tears pouring down her cheeks, gold throwing knife hanging limply from her hand. Spencer walked towards her and dropped to his knees, wrapping his arms around her. He hoped she wouldn't hurt him again, but even if she did, he could take it. He had to stay by her side._

Spencer opened his eyes as the wheels of the plane touched down. He hadn't meant to fall asleep and was surprised no one had woken him up. Then again, they'd tiptoed around him from the moment he stepped into that room. He knew he was different. At the very least, the physical changes were likely enough to make them uncomfortable. They didn't know even half of his pain. All anyone in the FBI knew was that he was supposed to investigate a group of domestic terrorists and that he'd hadn't stayed undercover. They didn't have to know the how or why. That was his secret.

"Rise and shine, sleepyhead," Morgan's voice pulled into his thoughts, rousing him. He tried to smile up at his friend, but found that his face just couldn't bend that way. It turned out as more of grimace so he stopped. He saw Morgan's reaction and felt guilty. Maybe he should just give up being a person. It's easier to not care. To just do what feels right in the moment and not what's necessarily legal or safe. He almost missed it. Almost.

He stood up from his seat, joints aching. The beating he'd gotten at the end of his time out there had been a bad one. Worse than the others. Usually he wouldn't let himself get hurt, but he had to. Those were the rules. He closed his eyes and covered his thoughts with a pained sigh. The expression on Morgan's face told him his muscular friend believed it was just his injuries.

"Rossi, take Reid and go to the crime scene. The rest of us will go to the station." Spencer wondered why he'd been sent to the warehouse. Then it occurred to him that it was likely because Hotch was uncomfortable being around him. That was fine. He liked Rossi more than most of the other team members, especially now. Rossi didn't usually ask too many questions and, frankly, Spence didn't want to answer any. He'd had more than enough questions lately.

The warehouse was on the outskirts of the city. There was nothing too special about it. Big, empty building with dirty windows. The door screamed as metal rubbed again metal. It was a simple sliding door. The only lock appeared to be a heavy duty padlock which had been unlocked. Spencer suspected it had been opened with a key, but the forensic team would be able to tell for certain.

Chained to one of the steel support beams was a massive cross. From a distance it looked like metal but, when he approached it, he saw that it was plastic with a metallic coating.

"This is a special order. I bet Garcia could figure out what company produced it."

"But it's unusual," Rossi replied, "the other crosses were wood."

"Cost efficient, maybe. If he's planning more, wood's too expensive."

"Why would you assume 'he'?"

"Shoe prints." Spencer indicated large shoe prints in the dust. They weren't easily visible, but he saw them. There were no prints in the blood, which sprayed and splattered out. One would think she'd been eviscerated with the level of blood.

"It can't all be his…"

"What's that?"

"Nothing." He wasn't sure why he didn't say anything. He wondered if maybe he was still playing games with people. He wanted to challenge them. Wanted to know if they were worth helping. _Where else can I go?_ The voice of his subconscious cracked through his head. But it was right. He had nowhere else to go. He had to play nice with them. It would be easier if he could remember who he used to be. He could remember every word he'd heard or read, but couldn't remember how he interacted with people before.

"I'm Detective Rod Carlton. You must be from the FBI." The voice belonged to a short, broad man. He was balding and his podgy stomach dripped over his belt somewhat. He'd been addressing Rossi so Spencer looked him up and down quickly and decided he was not a favourable character. Even the way he stood screamed of arrogance. Carlton didn't take the BAU seriously. Maybe Spencer could change that.

"I'm S.S.A David Rossi and this is Doctor Spencer Reid." As Rossi introduced them, Carlton turned towards Spencer to shake his hand. Spence didn't bother to raise his hand, as Carlton reeled back in revulsion at the agents face.

"Oh god!" he cried.

"God…" Spencer muttered the word to himself. God had no part in what happened to his face. He could remember believing in God, but it was a distant memory. When had he stopped believing? It must have been a long time ago. Before or after his assignment. It was hard adjusting to life again and he couldn't help but question whether he really wanted to.

His cold eyes met Carlton's wide ones evenly. There was something he saw in them that he recognized. He'd met many worthless men in his life, and this was no exception. Carlton would try to make this investigation challenging. He knew something. Spencer was sure. One thing he'd learned is that every good criminal has at least one hand in the police department.


	3. Chapter 3

The Fargo evening was cold and Spencer was glad for his long coat and thick scarf. He stood outside the police station waiting for Morgan. They were going to visit the wife of the most recent victim. He was the only one who had any family whatsoever. Spence was sure it was a link. Elderly men without any family. So what about the wife? Why the change in victim? He knew there was significance to it and make sure he kept that fact at the ready.

"Ready?" Derek asked, pushing the door open. Spencer responded with a shrug and stalked over to the black SUV. He found he was going through waves of extreme interest and extreme disinterest in the case. Any case, in fact. He had to keep reminding himself of why he returned to the BAU.

"What's up with you, man?" Morgan's voice with tight. Spence had only heard that tone used with the team a few times. He wouldn't give Morgan the satisfaction. Instead, he stared icily out the window and thought about the facts thus far. He knew from the evidence Hotch and the others had looked at that the suspect had to be physically fit. He wore a size 13 shoe. A regular truck wouldn't be large enough to transport the crucifixes, so he had to drive something considerably larger. But what did Detective Carlton have to do with it? Spence couldn't shake the feeling that he was involved somehow.

"Look, I don't know what happened to you, but-"

"Stop. Just don't." It had come out as more of a snap than he'd intended. He couldn't take it back. Morgan didn't need to know what happened to him. What he'd done. _We all do what we have to._ Her words echoed in his head. The first words she'd spoken to him. He was the first person to hear her speak in years. If he closed his eyes, he could see her face, hear her voice, smell her perfume. He knew her better than he knew himself. He could tell what she was thinking by the slightest tilt of her head. But real people… People who existed outside his assignment… He'd never understood them. In theory, they were simple. But real humans were complex. They boggled the mind. Nothing they did was predictable. Maybe it used to seem that way, but it hadn't for quite some time.

He glanced at Morgan from the corner of his eye. His friend had his hands tight on the steering wheel and glared straight ahead. Spencer could almost feel the rage emanating from him. Oh well. It didn't matter anyway. He could remember close bonds with these people, but he felt little affection for them now. When he came back, he expected to. He expected to feel something. Instead, they were just people. " _Back in the box you go!"_ Why did he keep hearing her voice?

It didn't take long before they pulled up to a simple yellow bungalow. He hated yellow houses. They were supposed to be so cheerful and instead they looked like they were mocking the sun. This one was particularly heinous. Vibrant yellow with green trim and a red door. He wanted to be sick. Everything made him sick now. All the things he used to enjoy…

When they knocked at the door, they expected to be greeted by an elderly woman. Instead, the woman who answered the door was tall, slender, and in her mid-50's. She had a sharp gaze and pinched lips. The sort of woman who didn't smile often and, unlike so many others, didn't seem reviled by his face. Intriguing.

"Ma'am, I'm S.S.A Derek Morgan and this is Doctor Spencer Reid. We're from the FBI and we'd like to ask you a few questions about your husband."

"What about him? He's dead, isn't that all there is to it?" Spencer was taken aback by her flippant response.

"You don't seem upset about it." He commented.

"He was twenty years my senior and had a tumour in his brain. I made peace with his death long before he died." Pragmatic.

"Where were you two nights ago?"

"Why? Cause you think I killed him? Hah!" The woman barked a laugh, her voice hard like a smokers. Spencer raised his eyebrow. "Fine. It doesn't matter anyway. Every Monday I go for mani-pedis with my girls. We go to the same place every week. Rosetta's on 21st."

"Your girls?" Derek sounded as irritated as he had in the car.

"My daughters."

"We weren't aware he had any children."

"Warren didn't. I have two girls from a previous relationship." She shrugged and rolled her eyes. Previous relationship, Spencer suspected, meant a boyfriend in her much younger years.

"How old are they?" he asked.

"Marnie's 42 and Joy's 39." He nodded. Just as he'd thought. If she were in her late 50's, the oldest she could've been when she had her first daughter was 18.

"I notice you still haven't invited us in," he said.

"Hah! And if you want to come in it'll be with a warrant. I don't have much to hide, but I do like my privacy."

"Fair enough. I think we have enough for now." He turned to leave.

"Hold up, Reid! That's it?" Spence heard the edge to Morgan's voice. He wasn't sure why he enjoyed pressing buttons so much, but he did.

"That's it."


	4. Chapter 4

Upon arriving back at the station, Spencer and Morgan delivered the information they'd gathered and then Spencer made himself scarce. He'd spent enough time around other people for a little while. They were so noisy and his head was starting to hurt. It bothered him that everyone seemed to be simultaneously trying to dig him for information about what happened to him and trying to avoid him. They needed to choose whether they wanted to be around him or not. And if they wanted to be around him, they had to respect that he had things he couldn't talk about.

The feelings he had about his assignment were mixed. On the one hand, he'd experienced amazing things he never would've if he'd stayed in his sheltered life. He'd discovered a side of him he didn't know existed. The problem was… Did he like that side of himself? Did he really like who he'd become? _Yes,_ the voice in his head whispered to him. It was right. He did like that side of himself. It wasn't weak like the old Spencer. It wasn't afraid. It didn't give up. That side of him was everything he'd always wanted to be but was too pathetic to become. And she'd unlocked it. She opened the door for him and changed his world.

How could he go back to being old Spencer? Was it possible?

"Spence! There you are." J.J frowned at him from the door of the station. The look of concern on her face irritated him. What right did she have to be concerned? She didn't even know him…

"What do you want?" It was less polite than he'd intended to be, but he didn't feel like dicing words.

"Well, I don't think I deserve the attitude, but I'll let you off this time. We're about the deliver the profile. Are you coming?"

Spencer thought about it for a moment before he shrugged and walked past her into the building. Sure, he'd stick around for a few minutes. But he wouldn't pretend he wanted to be there. He wished there was a way to make them understand. It wasn't just his skin that was scarred; his heart had been torn in two.

"We're looking for a physically fit male. We suspect he's between the ages of 25 to 35." Hotch began.

"Kinda a broad range, innit?" one of the officers interrupted.

"This isn't a perfect science, and if the UnSub is older or younger than the range we suggested, well that's a possibility as well." Rossi explained.

"So what makes you think he's 25 to 35? Why not 20? Or 40? 50, even?" The same heckler.

"A man in his 40's or 50's would have to be abnormally strong to commit these crimes. The crucifixes each weigh a couple hundred pounds, so he already has to be quite strong."

"Could it be a team?"

"We don't think so. We found only one set of foot prints, but there was so much blood that it's possible the others were obscured."

"We predict that the excessive blood is a countermeasure against detection," Morgan said, finishing Rossi's train of thought. "This last crime scene was the first that even had a visible print."

"So… Where's he getting the blood from?"

"We have a forensic team running the blood now, but based on the rate it congealed, it doesn't appear to be human," said Hotch. The men were really dominating the conversation and Spencer could see J.J purse her lips as she noticed it as well.

"It's very likely that our UnSub is Christian. We believe he was either raised in a very religious family and was abused in the name of God, or is a born again Christian who is a member of a Christian-based cult that uses fear or violence to convert their members," she said, finally speaking up.

"Do groups like that actually exist," an officer asked.

"Unfortunately, they're increasingly common, especially in small, rural communities."

"This, along with the blood, leads us to believe he may have grown up on a farm," Hotch interjected. One of the officers chuckled.

"Well, this is North Dakota. Plenty of people grew up on farms. It teaches kids about respecting the world. It doesn't raise killers," it was Detective Carlton. Spencer frowned at him, his eyes narrowing.

"Did you?" he asked. Everyone turned to him, surprise sparking their faces. Spencer had been standing near the door, not wanting to enter the crowded room. Carlton looked indignant.

"I did. So what?"

"You've killed people." The rage that flared on the detectives face was enough for Spence. His lips curled into a small, cold smile. Without haste, he pushed away from the wall he leaned against, and walked out of the room. He'd made his point. It didn't matter how you were raised or where you grew up. Everyone had the capacity to be a killer.

"Spencer!" J.J called out as she followed him from the room. She was jogging to catch up with him. He made no effort to slow down. At that point, he could honestly care less. He knew they needed his help to catch the killer, but he didn't really feel like helping someone with such blatant bigotry.

"Spencer!" she shouted again.

"What?" he whipped around to face her, his voice a snarl.

"What was that in there, Spence?"

"Do you really not see it?"

"See what?" Spencer shook his head. If they couldn't see the darkness in the detective, he wasn't going to help them. Besides, a gut feeling isn't really admissible in court.

"Whatever," he said, turning and walking away. She didn't follow him. He wasn't sure whether he'd wanted her to or not. Why did things have to be so complicated?


	5. Chapter 5

Guilt consumed Spencer. He hadn't meant to be so terse towards them. He had to keep reminding himself that it wasn't their fault. They didn't understand. And there was nothing he could say to make them understand. Was there? Maybe… Maybe there was a way he could explain it without telling them what he'd done. Yes. Perhaps if he only told them about good memories… It wouldn't work. They'd want to know about the scars. About the torture he'd supposedly endured. And he couldn't tell them the truth about that. They wouldn't believe it. And, even if they did, they'd think he was completely insane. Maybe they already did…

Spencer shook his head to clear the dark thoughts. No. They needed his help. He was being selfish by denying them that. He'd wait until they came to find him. He would appear contrite. He would apologize. They wouldn't question what he'd been through. They would only forgive him. Then they would solve the case.

It would be easy. Maybe, he thought, maybe that's what's needed. An easy life. Yes, he could settle back with the BAU. Things wouldn't be the same, but maybe they could be better. He was no longer just a pathetic geek. Beneath his heavy coat and white shirt were tight muscles. He hadn't bulked like Morgan had. When he gained muscle mass, it was sinewy. If anything, it made him appear even skinnier. A fact that had proven useful in the past. People always underestimated him. The downside to his life was that he'd lost the innocent appearance that had made him so endearing to people. Less trustworthy. Were they right to not trust him? Probably. He knew the psychiatrist believed he had a volatile personality. There was no denying that was a fact. But Dr. Martina hadn't really understood the volatility. She hadn't understood the reason behind it.

He was broken from his thoughts by the opening of a door.

"You want to tell me what that was?" He hadn't expected Hotch to be the first out. But why not? He was their fearless leader after all. But he was a step above the others and would not be fooled by a false apology. Spence would have to find a way for it to be the truth. Easy.

"It was nothing," he was buying time. Was he sorry? Not really. But he did want to make amends. The more he thought about it, the more he wanted his heart to heal. He wanted to choose a side and stick to it. And, the other side being notably absent, this was his only home. His only family. "I'm sorry."

Hotch sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. Spencer could hear him grit his teeth. He saw the sharp scowl. Once, he had regarded this man as a second father. Why had that been? Those memories seemed so far away now… But he supposed, in a way, Aaron Hotchner was father to the whole team. He protected them even if it meant putting his own life in danger. When he closed his eyes, he could remember nights spent curled on Hotchner's couch after he thought Prentiss was killed. He remembered the leader clasping his shoulder and smiling down at him as he blew out birthday candles. Hotchner was more of a father than his own had ever been. How could he disappoint this man?

There was no one left at that place who would miss him. It was time to go back to his real home.

"I'm sorry, Hotch," his voice was little more than a whisper, "I don't know what I'm doing."

From the corner of his eye, he saw the older man lift his head and regard him for a time. But Spencer couldn't meet his eye. He shuffled his toe on the dusty ground.

"Will it happen again," Hotch finally asked.

"No."

"Good. Now… About Detective Carlton…" Spencer looked up sharply. Surely Hotch didn't expect him to apologize to the suspicious detective! "What have you seen that we haven't?"

Not what he'd been expecting, and he was a bit embarrassed about his answer: "A gut feeling."

"Is that all?" Hotch lifted his eyebrow, a concerned expression.

"Something about him… At the crime scene, he didn't seem even the slightest bit upset. He was so horrified by me that he tripped over himself trying to get away, but the blood and the crucifix didn't bother him…" He chose his words carefully, speaking slowly in a low voice. He wondered if the detective was involved, how many others on the force might be.

Hotchner seemed to consider this information for a time before replying in an equally careful manner. "Hmm… He wasn't bothered by the blood? At all?"

"… No…."

"Interesting." It was Spencers turn to raise his eyebrow at his boss.

"He's too short to have put the men up there… But they'd trust an officer. And by the time they realized they were in danger, he'd be able to hold them at gunpoint." The words tumbled out of Spencer's mouth as the thought hit him. It wouldn't be the first time that multiple officers were involved in a series of organized murders. Hotch seemed to catch his train of thought because he stepped a few feet further from the station.

"Let's walk, Reid." He took off at a brisk pace. However, Spencer's legs were longer and he had no trouble catching up.


	6. Chapter 6

It wasn't as strange or challenging a case as they'd initially thought. Once they knew which strings to pull, it all unraveled. Detective Carlton's father believed that the only way to allow God to enter your body was through adversity, which he administered through starvation and beating. When Carlton's younger brother, Lukas murdered their father Carlton decided he would become an officer. It was the only thing he could think of to protect his brother. And when his brother was released from prison… He sure wasn't the same as when he went in. Carlton helped him. Together they lured men that reminded them of their father to warehouses. At gunpoint, they forced the men to climb onto the crucifixes. After killing the men, the brothers poured buckets of cow's blood onto the floor to cover their tracks.

When they caught Lukas, Carlton turned himself in.

"A little anti-climactic," Rossi said, sounding a bit surprised.

"I'd rather that than a shootout," Morgan replied. His tired voice betrayed his alert expression. The others nodded their agreement. Spencer looked out the window of the plane pensively. He was still getting the cold shoulder from the others and he didn't blame them. The way he'd behaved… It was unacceptable. He acted like a petulant child. And he was better than that.

"I think drinks to celebrate. Murphy's?" J.J said, looking around at her teammates. All but Spencer nodded their agreement. "What about you, Spence?"

"Are you sure you want me there?" His voice was quiet, wound tight with a nervousness he hadn't expected. And even if they wanted him there… Did he even want to go? It wasn't really his scene. The last bar he'd been to… It hurt to think about.

"Of course we do. You may not realize it, but we're all glad you're back. I just wish you seemed as happy about it as we are." Her words stung. He was trying so hard to be happy about it. But how could he? After everything he knew… After what he'd had to do… If they knew who he was, even they'd arrest him without a second thought.

"I… I am happy." He tried to make it sound sincere. Tried to mask his own doubts. It seemed to do the trick, because they were placated. Unfortunately for him, it also meant that he then had to actually go with them to the bar. At least he could leave anytime he wanted. Murphy's was just a few blocks from his apartment.

When they arrived at the office to drop off their paperwork, Spencer was surprised to find a thin brown box on his desk.

"What's that?" Morgan asked.

"It arrived a couple hours ago." Garcia's voice lacked her usual pep. She seemed nervous. Spence picked it up and found it was slightly heavier than expected. And there was something that slid around easily. With a pen, he cut the tape along the edge and opened it.

The box was lined with black tissue paper. Nestled in the paper was a red thistle, a flip cellphone, and a card which bore only the words "I owe you a favour."

"Well that's not creepy in the slightest," J.J said, a little horrified, "Do you know who it's from?"

"Yeah," Spence replied, "I do." He dropped the cell phone into the bottom of his bag, hoping he would never need it. He considered leaving the thistle on his desk, but the sight of it made him want to retch. He knew all too well what it meant and who it was from. Instead, he dropped it into the nearest garbage can. He didn't need those kinds of memories or promises hanging over him.

If he was going to start a new life, it would be without her. It had to be.

"Ready to go?" he asked the others, lifting his eyebrow and nodding towards the door. They were confused, but had the good sense not to ask questions. What would he tell them anyway? That he's a criminal? That he's wanted in 17 states and Canada? That he became the very thing they hunted? No. He wouldn't tell them. They would never need to know who he'd killed.


	7. Chapter 7

Midway through their evening at Murphy's, Spencer felt compelled to leave. His head flooded with unbidden memories. In his mind, he saw a different bar filled with different people. A bartender with cropped brown hair and a lazy smile. A woman in a low cut black dress counting money at the till, her dark eyes dancing as she laughed to herself. A woman with long red hair nestled in a booth waiting for him.

In comparison to that, Murphy's seemed cold and dark. A raucous crowd stood near the bar cackling like crows. Most of the booths were occupied by group of men ordering pitcher after pitcher of beer. As the night wore on, they became increasingly drunk and belligerent.

And his team… They wanted to ask him questions… What city was he sent to? How did he get the scar on his face? Why did he stop sending reports? So many questions that he couldn't answer. So he left. Although his apartment was only a few blocks away, he knew that all that waited for him there was emptiness. Before he'd come back, he'd been thinking of buying a house. He had enough in savings that he could buy a modest house without a mortgage. He'd never been one to spend much money. Besides his mother's hospital bills, he'd managed to save the majority of his money since he started at the BAU. But that was before, when he thought he might have someone to come home to.

When he did finally go home, he fell quickly into a sleep filled with lonely dreams. Dreams of a life he couldn't have anymore,

And so it was until their next case. Every day he went through the motions. Every day he felt himself slipping away into a quiet pain. His mood was as testy as ever and he found that if he didn't keep his mouth shut, he was likely to lash out at his colleagues.

It was a full week before Penelope teetered through the office on alarmingly tall pink high heels, a worried look plastered across her face.

"We have a case," she announced to the team before heading to Hotch's office to let him know.

Hotchner was leaning against his desk and looking at Brad Wright, the man who'd been hired to take Reids place while he'd been on assignment. It was intended to be a temporary position, but Hotch and Rossi had spoken and agreed that they needed another body on the team. They'd struggled a bit while Spencer was away. There was a position on the team that was hard to fill. Elle Greenaway. Emily Prentiss. Kate Callahan. Alex Blake. Tara Lewis. All had left as soon as the team felt like they were family. Wright had done so much for the team and it seemed pointless to send him away now. Especially with Reid's volatile behaviour.

Wright had taken a few weeks leave after his wife gave birth. It was his first day back and he was excited to meet Spencer Reid, a man he'd heard so much about in his years with the BAU. Everyone had spoken so fondly of him, as though he were their sweet little brother.

"Umm, Hotch. Sorry to interrupt… We have a case," Garcias voice was quiet and nervous. She needed to spend some time looking at kittens after having seen the crime scene photos. It was grizzly, to say the least.

"We'll be there in a moment," he replied. As she left, he continued to Wright, "If you want to stay, the position is yours."

A grin spread across Wrights soft brown cheeks. "It's a pleasure to continue working with you," he said, holding out his hand to shake. He loved this job. Sure, it was hard. Sometimes it downright terrified him. But it did come with benefits and the team had been very good to him. It was his ideal job.

Spencer stood with his back against the wall. He'd thought about sitting down, but it sent nerves tingling up his spine. It was a habit he'd developed while he was away. Standing allowed for a faster getaway and his height made for a good intimidation tactic. Now, sitting made him feel small. Vulnerable.

When Wright entered the room, he didn't notice Spencer at first. He sat down in an empty chair glanced around at the team. He knew Spencer was supposed to be back and was surprised to not see him.

"Reid, Wright, I don't think you've met before," Hotch said, motioning between the two of them. Wright jumped up from his seat, extending a hand to shake. His immediate impression of Spencer was not what he'd imagined. Instead of a warm smile, he was greeted with a scarred face and a scowl. He was beginning to feel a bit foolish with his hand outstretched when Spencer finally reached out and took it, his cold expression unchanging.

The room felt tense to Spencer. He knew they'd found someone to take his place, but he'd had no assumptions about what the person would be like. Wright looked like a fool to him. Someone who trusted too much and too easily.

"It's great to finally meet you. I've heard a lot about you." Wright tried to break the stony silence.

"Hmm," Spencer replied, tucking his hand back into his pocket and turning to look at Penelope, who fidgeted nervously with the edge of her tablet.

Hotch was the one to get the ball rolling.

"Shall we begin?"


	8. Chapter 8

"Three weeks ago, the body of Maria Kurovic was found twenty miles north of the US-Canada border just outside Saint Jean Baptiste, Manitoba. She was six. Her feet had been broken and bound in that creepy traditional Chinese style. Why anyone did that, I can't imagine…" Garcia's voice shook and she carefully avoided looking at the images on the screen. "Her teeth had be ground down and several of her fingers cut off. Cause of death was suffocation."

"What's that on her face?" Rossi asked.

"Ash." Spencer said. All eyes turned towards him. He kept his focus on the screen.

"Y-yeah… It was ash. How did you know?" There was a hint of fear in Garcia's voice. He wondered if it was because of him.

"The Dani tribe of Baliem Valley would cut off their fingers and smudge ash and clay on their faces to mourn the death of someone they cared about. The teeth grinding is likely from the Hindu rite of passage." He saw J.J's face light up as he spoke. She probably thought his spouting of facts was him returning to normal. It wasn't. He could remember feeling passionate about the random facts he knew. He loved information. He still did. But the information he craved now was so different from what it used to be.

"That's really alarming and gross, but not as alarming as what happened to the next victim. Two weeks ago, Clooney Masters, aged seven, was found in the same place. Some of his fingers had been cut off, his teeth were ground, and there was ash on his face. Instead of his feet being bound he had gloves made of ants on his hands." _Bullet Ants,_ thought Spencer.

"Any insights?" Rossi asked him.

"… No." He looked away. Part of him wondered why he didn't tell them. Another part of him wondered why he should be helping them at all. Suddenly it all seemed rather trite.

"Yesterday… Yesterday Cindy Moller, six, was found in the same location. Feet bound, teeth ground, fingers cut off, ash on her face. Just like Maria."

"If the bodies are in Canada, why are we being brought in?" Morgan asked.

"Because they all went missing from Seattle."

There was a quietness in the room. Cold. It was rare for cross-border abductions and murders to ever be solved. Or, if they did catch the culprit and he was Canadian, it was uncommon that Canada would extradite them to the US for the trial.

"Reid, you've spent more time in Canada than any of us. You, Rossi, and Wright will go to across the border to the crime scene. J.J, you'll come with Morgan and I to Seattle to meet the families."

Spencer glanced at Wright. He didn't like the idea of working in close quarters with this guy. He didn't trust him. _Who do you trust?_ The voice in his head asked. No one. No one on this side or the other. He was also nervous about going back up to Canada. He'd spent a fair amount of time on his assignment in Canada, albeit in the west rather than in Manitoba.

"You'll have to fly to Winnipeg and drive down. Saint Jean Baptiste doesn't have an airport." Garcia fidgeted with her nails and Reid could see flecks of her brilliant red polish sprinkling down and away.

"We'll arrange some rental cars."

Spencer had already pulled out his phone and punched out a quick text. If he was going to be in Winnipeg, however briefly, he might see about catching up with an old contact.

"Something interesting, Reid?" Morgan asked. Spencer's phone buzzed and he glanced at the text.

"We have cars."

Hotch and Rossi exchanged a look before Hotch said "Wheels up in thirty."

Once they were on the plane, Reid noticing how strange it was to just have three people onboard, Rossi asked Reid about the cars.

"Like Hotch said: I've spent the most time in Canada. It makes sense I would have contacts up there who could lend us a couple cars free of charge."

"What kind of contacts, Reid?"

Reid shook his head. "Contacts," he said, pulling his headphones up over his head and reviewing the case file again.

Wright glanced between the two of them and wondered what had happened. He'd seen photos of Spencer. Photos in which he smiled and laughed and his eyes were lit like suns. This man… This was like a completely different human. Almost like an animal.

On the ground, they were met by a tall, handsome man with close cropped brown hair and a lazy smile. He leaned against a sleek, black SUV, the black of his leather jacket seeming to melt into it.

"Spence!" he called out, pushing away from the vehicle and stepping towards the agents. Spencer reached out his hand affably and they gripped each other in a strong handshake.

"It's been a long time. I'm surprised to see you here." There was a warmth in Spencer's gravelly voice that they hadn't heard since before he left.

"You seem close." Rossi wasn't sure he trusted this man. There was something strange about him.

"Spencer and I go way back! He saved my life when we were boys." The man clapped Spencer on the shoulder, smiling proudly. Spencer could see the deceit in it, however charming it may appear. West was not the sort of man to smile so easily. Not before sunset anyway.

"How'd you get the other one here?" he asked, indicating a second SUV.

"The kid dropped it off and took off on his bike."

"Didn't feel like sticking around?"

"Spence… You burned a lot of bridges back then. I think he was hurt more than most."'


	9. Chapter 9

Morgan chose to drive the second SUV while Rossi and Reid rode with West.

"So… How do you really know each other?" Rossi asked, his skepticism at the earlier story becoming clear.

"Like I said, I owe Spence my life," West replied.

"But how did you meet?"

"We were in the same… Club," Reid cut in. It was close enough to the truth. It was true he'd saved Wests life. More times than he cared to count and more times than he should've. But West was the one who gave him the final beating that landed him in the hospital. Good thing too. The beating was meant to be just bad enough that he'd need a long hospital stay, but not so bad that his life was in danger. He doubted any of the others who had the strength to hurt him had the accuracy or good sense to stop before it was too much. No, only West could do what had to be done.

"What happened to a kid that he would need his life saved?" Rossi was asking too many questions. Reid could see West's knuckles going white on the steering wheel. He could understand the discomfort. West was no saint and anything that implicated Reid would implicate him as well and vice versa.

"I got into a fight with some guys bigger than me. Left me for dead in an alley. Good guy that he is, Spence took me in and nursed my wounds!" There was a choppiness to his voice that Reid was all too familiar with. West appeared jovial and charming, but he cracked too easily under pressure. He'd been in the game longer than Reid but had never really learned to control his anger.

"When you were boys… So you've met his mother?"

West was quiet at this question. He knew just enough about Diana Reid that he knew there was no good answer to that question. He glanced in the rear view mirror to see Reid staring unhappily out the window. He felt bad about that. It had been a mistake to pick them up. Should've just dropped the cars off and caught a ride back to the city.

Rossi scratched his chin thoughtfully. The two of them were suspicious at best. It occurred to him momentarily that maybe they'd met while Reid was on assignment. Looking closely at the guy, he noted that West had the same rough looks and guarded personality of an undercover cop. What didn't make sense is why he wouldn't just say so? They were all on the same side.

 _Brrrrrr. Brrrrrr. Brrrrrr._

West's phone buzzed in the hands free phone holder. With a quick hand, he pressed the speaker button, answering the call.

"I'm on speaker in a car with FBI." There was a wryness in his voice, like he thought the situation was ridiculous.

"YOU'RE WHAT?!" Reid recognized the sharp voice. Closing his eyes, he could picture her. Olive skin, brown eyes so dark they almost looked black, wavy brown hair. Even in her short outburst, he heard her slight Spanish accent. Midas. "Never mind. We have a situation. Davis was ambushed while tailing a suspect. He's stable, but we need to you back here ASAP."

"Davis?" Reid wondered aloud.

"Hang on. Is that Spence?" Spencer didn't respond. He turned his head and looked out the window. He heard the ice in her tone. She was the one who came up with the plan so if she was angry with him it was his own fault. "You don't call, you don't text?" There it was. The icy edge. He knew what she was talking about. It wasn't her phone that sat in the bottom of his bag, but he already knew her number was the only one he'd ever call with it.

"It's not him, love," West said. He glanced back at Spencer again, wishing they could all just get along again.

"But you're with agents… He called you for help…"

"It's not him. He asked for help but he's not here. Spence isn't here." Reid heard the sadness in his former comrade's words. He understood where it came from. He was neither the Reid who left the FBI, nor was he the Spence who left the Family. He wasn't sure who he was anymore.

"Sorry. Whoever that is, sorry." Reid didn't want to hear those words from her. It hurt his chest.

"I'll head back as soon as I've dropped these guys off. Can you have a bike ready for me in Saint Jean Baptiste?"

"Yeah. There'll be on at the usual shop." With a click, the call ended.

"You doing alright, Spence?" West asked.

"Yeah. Just dandy." Reid couldn't keep the anger out of his voice. Since returning to the FBI, his composure was slipping. When he found the gift on his desk he'd thought " _she's letting me go. Good."_ And it was a warm feeling. He wanted to be free. So why did he feel so trapped?

Rossi had the good sense to not ask any more questions. The more he asked, the less he seemed to understand. But it did appear that his assumption was correct. Reid's contact was a cop.


	10. Chapter 10

There wasn't much to see at the drop site. _No blood,_ thought Spencer before chastising himself. Why would there be blood? The children were all suffocated. No signs of a struggle. He doubted they were killed there. But the unsub wouldn't have been able to carry the kids across the border if they were alive. Couldn't bring them in a seat and a kid would make too much noise in a trunk. You could spend hours in border crossing. If they'd knocked the kid out there was no guarantee they'd stay unconscious all that time.

"They were killed in the US," he said.

"What makes you say that?" Wright's tone was curious. He was genuinely interested. He'd heard so much about Reid's intelligence and wanted to understand the way his mind worked. That had always been his field of interest: the way intelligent people thought. Not just normal intelligent people. Geniuses.

"Do you think border security is so lax as to let a child cross with an unrelated adult?" Reid didn't bother sheltering his annoyance. That much at least should've been obvious.

"But who can cross the border so easily that their car wouldn't be searched?" Rossi asked.

"The borders aren't 'lax' but… Well… Coming into Canada the cars aren't scrutinized the way they are going into the US. If there's no reason to be suspicious, they can usually get through without any issue…" The voice belonged to Officer Riley Page, a member of the RCMP D division. He was wearing the formal red coat, black pants, and brown hat. When Reid raised an eyebrow he quickly spoke again, "excuse my appearance, sirs, but I was posted at a festival in Winnipeg when I got the call to come meet you. I didn't have time to change. Sorry."

"You're RCMP?" Rossi asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Why are the RCMP here instead of the police?"

"We handle international incidents, not the police."

"So the police aren't involved at all?"

"No, sir." Reid almost chuckled at the officers repeated use of the honorific. It was clear that the officer was young. It didn't seem like he was used to being involved in actual investigations. It was more likely he was sent to keep peace at any of the massive number of festivals and events held throughout the province.

It seemed like Rossi had the same idea when he asked "So how many murders have you worked?

The officer paused before replying. "This is the second, sir. The first was a first nation's woman who turned up in the Red River."

"Did you catch her killer?"

Another pause. "No. The government hasn't done much to help the murdered and missing women. After a few days we were told not to look into it anymore." His voice was quiet and regretful. Clearly, if it were up to him, they wouldn't stop until there was justice. Reid could understand that conviction.

"Do you think we'll solve this one?" he asked.

"I hope so."

The spot where the children had been placed was obvious amongst the rest of the grass. The weeds had been cleared away and flower petals were strewn about. Reid held up the photos of the children, taken where they'd been found. The children were all posed the same way, curled up, and contented smiles on their faces. If you didn't know any better, you'd think they were just sleeping. They were fully clothed, but not in the clothes they'd been abducted in. New clothes, barely even worn. No signs of sexual abuse. No bruises or cuts. It was so strange.

"They were missing for weeks before their bodies turned up…" He didn't mean to speak out loud and certainly didn't expect the pain in his voice. He thought of the woman he'd left behind. Wild red hair. Eyes green like grass in spring. She was taken as a child and had wondered every day if her parents still searched for her. In 15 years, she hadn't seen them again. He had asked her once if she wanted to find them again. " _It's too late for me,"_ she'd whispered. He wondered if these children would have felt the same.

A thought occurred to him. He whipped out hit phone and dialed Garcia's number.

"Hello, boy wonder!" she greeted him cheerily, "What can I do for you today?"

"When were the kids abducted?"

"They were each abducted three weeks before they were found."

"To the day?"

"Yeah… What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking he could have more kids. They were all found on Sundays… They were abducted on Sundays?"

"Oh! Oh yeah…. You want me to run a search to see if any more little ones went missing on Sundays in the past few weeks…"

"You got it."

"Give me a hot minute and I'll call you back!" The line went dead and Reid could just imagine her jabbing her pen into the button as she always did. When he'd been shot in the leg he spent a lot of time in her lab watching her work. If he had to pick someone he liked best on the team, it was her. He'd spent more time with J.J, but he liked the way Garcia didn't judge people. She took everything in stride. Never told him he should try being more outgoing. She never knew what the right thing to say was, but that was comforting to him.

It was less than five minutes later when his phone buzzed.

"What have you got?"

"I have a whole hellish goldmine. All the kids were abducted from Elliot Bay Park and the surrounding streets. I searched for other children abducted from that area on Sundays and I found exactly one each Sunday for the past three months."

"Three months? But we've only found three bodies… So where are the others? Shouldn't there be-"

"A whole bunch more kidlettes? Yeah."

"So where are they?"

"I should also point out that there are three more missing since the most recent victim that has been found was kidnapped. The kidnappings have also alternated between boys and girls." Her voice shook as though she were about to cry.

"There's a week missing… Three weeks ago, two weeks ago… And then yesterday. Why did he skip a week?"

"Oh that's horrifying!"

"Go look at kittens. I'll call you when I have more to go on."

"Be safe, star child."


	11. Chapter 11

After relaying the information to Rossi and Wright, Reid called Hotchner.

"Has Garcia called you yet?" he asked the team leader.

"No. Do you have something?"

"There are twelve victims."

"TWELVE?!" Reid could hear the shock and panic in Hotchner's voice. "How can that be?"

"I don't know but the unsub has taken one each week for three months. All from the Elliot Bay Park area."

"Do you think the earlier victims were left at another location?"

"It's possible," Reid replied, "But… It's also possible that they're still alive. I can't help but wonder if all the victims went through the same trials and these ones just didn't survive…"

"Another gut feeling?"

"Something like that." There was something in the rite of passage rituals that tugged at him. So far, there didn't seem to be a common link between the children besides the site of abduction. But the rituals they went through… The key had to be in there. He wracked his brains for anything that might point them in the right direction.

The killer had to drive a vehicle that was unlikely to be stopped at the border, but with a trunk without windows. A mid-price sedan in a common colour. The driver was likely a white male between the ages of thirty to forty-five. And he'd have to have a job that took him across borders frequently.

He dialed Garcia quickly and relayed the information before doing the same for Hotch. It wasn't much, but it was something. And he felt like he was starting to get back into the rhythm of his life.

"He could have a Nexus card," Rossi mused.

"I didn't think of that…"

"I'm astonished," despite his sarcastic tone, Rossi was actually surprised. The boy wonder hadn't thought of a likely possibility.

"Garcia," Reid said, having dialed the tech mage again, "Have a look to see if any Nexus card holders crossed the borders during the weeks the bodies were found."

"I'm doing that now…" he could hear the tapping of her keys," and I'm sorry but you've got to narrow it down. There are a shocking number of people with Nexus cards who cross the border multiple times every week."

"How about white males, aged thirty to forty-five?"

"That's a little better, but we're still looking at over a hundred people!"

"Just people who drive sedans."

"Better, but that's a few dozen. Got anything else for me?"

"Take out anyone driving a red car."

"Why a red car?"

"They're statistically more likely to be pulled over for traffic violations, but that's more correlation than causation. People who choose to purchase red cars tends to purchase higher end cars and drive faster."

"Well, however it works, it does. We have two dozen names, four of which live in Seattle! Sending them to you now!"

"Send them to Hotch as well."

"Oh, child, you underestimate my ability to do exactly what you want before you know you want it. "

Consulting the list, Reid determined that all the likely candidates were still in the US. It would be up to Morgan, Hotch, and J.J to narrow the suspect pool further.

Even after interviewing residents and border crossing agents, they were unable to find any leads. None of the border crossing agents could recall any such drivers and the surveillance tapes didn't pull up any leads either. They'd hit a dead end.

With Hotchner's blessing, and West on his way to pick up the SUVs, they boarded the plane to Seattle to meet with the rest of the team. They were touching down when the call came in. One of the leads was hot enough for a search warrant for the suspect's house. He chose suicide by officer rather than face prison for what he'd done.

The children who still lived were found in the basement, free to roam, though not many could move. They were horribly disfigured by the torture he'd put them through. A torture they'd never understand the reasons behind. He left no journal. No note. Edward Samuels was living and working in Seattle as an accountant and traveling across the border to meet with clients. He had no tragic backstory. By all accounts, he seemed a well-rounded individual. " _He was so normal!"_ people would exclaim later. His neighbours, coworkers, family. He was so normal.

It made Reid wonder what normal was.

He used to think he was normal. But what was normal to some was abnormal to others. That's how humans recognized differences in cultures. The things they saw as 'normal' against the things they saw as 'abnormal'. He thought about the Family. Their idea of 'normal' was different than the FBIs. They understood his bad temper and they accepted it. They didn't tell him to control it. They didn't force him into therapy.

" _The only normal people are the ones you don't know very well."_

" _Did you come up with that?"_

" _No, silly, it was Alfred Adler!"_ He could hear her mocking whispers. She didn't know the order of the planets or the names of all the states, but she could come up with a quote for any situation. Sometimes he thought she spoke entirely in quotes and riddles. He'd learned to decipher her, but it had taken time. Longer still for she rarely spoke.

He wondered if he was still the only person to hear her speak since then….


	12. Chapter 12

"I don't think you should take Reid on this one." Hotch looked at Cruz like he'd lost his mind. Given the set of circumstances, leaving Reid behind was out of the question.

"We need him."

"You don't understand…" Cruz thought for a moment before speaking, "That's where he was sent when he was undercover."

"He should have a better connection with the locals. We both know he didn't stay undercover."

"Are you willing to put his life on the line?"

"Given the unusual quality of this case, I don't think we have a choice. The police have had zero cooperation from the residents. You know as well as I do from the reports he sent that he already has a rapport with them."

Cruz sighed. He wasn't going to win. It wasn't necessarily that he was worried they would kill Reid. He was worried Reid wouldn't come back.

"Fine. But keep an eye on him."

"We will." Cruz walked to the elevator and Hotch went to his office to grab his travel bag. He couldn't help but wonder what they would encounter in the Twin Cities.

In the plane, they reviewed the case file again. Over the past four weeks, there had been four bombings. So far, there had been limited casualties despite the apparent impact. Each bomb seemed to produce a larger explosion than it actually did, producing unusually high amounts of black smoke. They seemed more geared towards spreading panic than injury.

Each bomb was detonated in a public area at peak traffic times. Twice, they were detonated at protest rallies. The protestors were gathered against a new train line that was to be built and would cross the Mississippi. The precise reason for the line was the transport of oil. The protestors were concerned with the potential for the train to derail and contaminate the river, an occurrence that was all too common for oil trains.

Looking closely at the images, Reid felt a pang in his chest. He recognized the locations and, in some images, the faces. One image in particular stood out at him. Protestors crawling and staggering away from the explosion and there, at the edge of the image, standing and watching the commotion, a woman with long red hair pulled into a ponytail, picket sign hanging loosely in her hand.

It was exactly the sort of event the Family would be involved in. Not the bombs or the chaos, but the protest. The desire for justice.

"The police have some idea where to start for leads, but there have been no witnesses willing to speak to them. They're hoping we can help with that."

"Oh, Hotch, I think we're going to have a few more problems than that."

"How so, Garcia?"

"In the past five years or so there has been a sudden increase in organized crime."

"Gang related?"

"Not exactly… There's not much information about either of the big two. One is run by a triad, as in three people not like the Chinese triad. The other… There's no information there. There's rumours, but they're all scattered and contradictory."

"Keep searching. The more we know going into this the better we'll fare."

Reid kept his mouth shut and his head down. He knew more than enough about both groups. The Family, supposedly led by a triad, and the others… Saiko the information broker and his thugs.

" _Isn't Saiko a girl's name?" Rhett mocked._

" _Yes, it is." There was bitterness in the man's voice as he shot Rhett between the eyes. Spence stood silently and watched. He'd been told before he left that anything that happened to Rhett was the boys own doing and Spence shouldn't bother to protect him. Saiko had done the Family a favour by putting him down._

Saiko didn't kill often, and bombs were not his style. Nor were they the Family's. But the Lady would know. He had no doubt that the Family had been investigated this longer than the police had.

When they landed, the whole team went immediately to the police station.There was a buzz through the station when they walked in.

"Alex Rigaldi," a tall, handsome man said, stepping towards Hotchner, "Thanks for coming out."

"SSA Aaron Hotchner. This is SSA Rossi, Jereau, Morgan, Wright, and Doctor Reid." Reid recognized the captain. They'd gone toe to toe more than once, not that the captain would recognize him. Not the way he looked now. But more than one of the bullet wounds on his chest had come from this man's gun.

"We brought in a suspect a few minutes ago. We have reason to believe she's a member of a domestic terrorism group in the city. She's refused to answer any of our questions." Reid's heart thumped in his chest. There were only so many women in the Family. If it really was one of them… He slipped his hand into his pocket and felt the smooth edges of his cellphone.

The agents and the captain walked through the bull pen to the observation room aside the interrogation room. Looking through the one-way mirror, Reid glanced down at his phone and quickly punched out a text. It wasn't much but it was all he could do.

Hotch thought about Reid's involvement with the group. He hoped that Reid going in to question the woman would startle her into answering questions.

"Reid, I want you and J.J to talk to her."

Reid took a few deep breaths before he spoke. "I can't do that, Hotch."

"Why not?"

"It wouldn't be ethical. I have had a personal relationship with her."


	13. Chapter 13

Reid had never been undercover before. He'd never pretended to be anyone he wasn't. And that was why he failed.

It was his first time meeting the real leader of the Family, the terrorist group he'd been sent to investigate. Everything he'd learned pointed to it being run by a dyad. A good cop-bad cop type duo in the guise of a couple who ran a bar.

It was hard to find the bar they ran, at first. It was a dive tucked away in an artsy section of the city. It attracted the socially inept. The Family attracted the socially inept. He'd been to the bar, The Garden, a few times before he recognized what it was. He was charmed by the two. They were kind to his heavy heart. They probably knew from the very beginning who he was. He always wondered if it was The Lady who told them to let him in.

From the very beginning, he butted heads with West. The West Wind, they called him. He was warm and welcoming and could make a man murder another and believe it was his own idea. It was weeks before Reid knew how manipulative he was.

Midas, on the other hand, was cold and distant, but she didn't mince words and he soon came to understand why they called her Midas: everything she touched turned to gold. Before he'd been there a month, he'd seen her pull a man from the brink of death without a proper hospital. Just set him up on the desk in the back room and fixed him right up.

But The Lady. She was a different creature altogether. The first time she walked into the bar with Reid sitting at the counter, it was like time stopped. Not in a love-at-first-sight way. Everyone in the bar literally stopped what they were doing to watch her. He learned later that it was uncommon to find her there unless it was important. She preferred her solitude. She'd taken a vow of silence and found it easier to avoid breaking that vow if she avoided people. Reid was the first to hear her voice in years.

When she walked into the bar, she walked right up to him and sat down next to him. She didn't say a single word. She didn't have to. The way the others reacted to her gave her a feeling of presence he didn't expect. It was like being in a room full of people fawning over a celebrity you didn't recognize. He understood her importance without knowing her.

Every evening it was the same. She went to the bar every day for two weeks and sat next to him without a word. As the weeks progressed, the tasks he was given became more complicated. He'd been there nearly four months and obeying orders had become natural to him. It had all been simple tasks: conversing with the people in the neighbourhood, reporting news to West, helping at homeless shelters, delivering packages. But in those two weeks, his tasks became more dangerous. He chased off some thugs who were attacking a woman. He drove a suspicious passenger around for three hours. He had several keys copied. And on the final day, he accompanied Hawk.

It seemed normal. Hawk was an attractive young teen. He had a charming sort of smile that allowed him to get away with more than most, and a knack for picking locks. Reid had wondered about the guitar case he carried on his back, as he'd never seen Hawk play. He taught Reid to ride a motorcycle.

On that day, they rode downtown and parked in a free lot and then walked seven blocks to an office building. They took the stairs up twenty-two flights to an empty floor.

"The whole building is under construction. You wouldn't know it though. They're doing it floor by floor," Hawk had explained to him. By the time they reached their destination, Reid panted like a dog. Hawk seemed unaffected. He found a window with the glass removed and opened his guitar case.

For the first time in many weeks, Reid felt nervous. From all he'd seen, the Family was lawful. He knew most of the members had at least part-time jobs. West and Midas ran a lucrative business. But this… This was not above-board.

"Better cover your ears, mate," Hawk said, passing him a set of ear covers. He made quite work of setting up his gun. They sat for less than five minutes when Hawk pulled the trigger. He was a true shot and quicker putting the gun away than he'd been taking it out.

Down the stairs, seven blocks over, onto their bikes, and back to the bar. All at a leisurely pace uncommon with those who had just committed a murder in broad daylight.

The Lady was waiting for him at the bar, his usual draft sitting in his place. Looking at her, he couldn't put the two events together.

He drank too much that day. And when the bar closed, and even West and Midas had gone to the back room, she looked at him and whispered, "We all do what we have to."


	14. Chapter 14

Hotch stared at Reid, seeing for the first time the anger etched into the lines in his face. The way Reid looked at this woman… It was a look he'd never seen before on his young comrade.

"Morgan," he said finally, "you and J.J will question her." Morgan nodded his agreement and the two of them stepped out into the hall, and from there into the interrogation room.

"Would you excuse us captain? You, too, Wright." It was clear that both Captain Rigaldi and Wright were uncomfortable leaving the room but did so without complaint. When the door was closed, Hotch looked again at Reid, whose face had slipped from angry to a carefully neutral expression. No emotion whatsoever.

"You had a personal relationship with her?" he asked.

"Yes," Reid replied.

"When you were undercover?"

"You and I both know I was never really undercover." Reid finally looked up at the older man, annoyance flashing briefly across his face.

"What happened, kid?" Rossi asked. Reid knew it was likely concern in his voice, but it was misplaced. Reid hadn't done anything unwillingly. He'd been given tasks to do, but was never threatened. When he didn't want to complete a task, he didn't. No questions asked.

"We were involved, and then I decided to come back to the BAU." It was the easiest explanation he was able to come up with. How do you tell your boss that you met the leader of a group of suspected terrorists and she showed him a way of living he never could've imagined?

"Who is she?" Hotch asked.

"Lady. That's what they call her."

"Just 'Lady?' Well that doesn't give us much to go on." Reid didn't appreciate the annoyed tone in Rossi's voice. He had made the decision to help the FBI but now, with her sitting on the other side of the wall, he wasn't sure what he wanted anymore.

"Well it doesn't look like they're making any progress with her. You know her. You could get more out of her."

"I don't think that's a good idea. The last time we saw each other… Well, it was bad." He had to look away from them. The things he said… The things he did to her… If they knew what a monster he'd become, there was no way they'd allow him to remain free. But her… He knew that she would forgive him for the worst things a person could do. He wasn't afraid of what she would do so much as what he would. He couldn't forgive himself for what he did.

"Maybe this is a chance to resolve things?" Rossi sounded hopeful and it made anger flare like white hot flames across Reid's chest.

"I don't think so."

There was a commotion out in the bull pen that forced their conversation to a close. Rigaldi seemed to be trying to stop someone from walking through. Reid followed Hotch and Rossi through the door and allowed himself a small, brief smile when he saw who approached.

Long, sleek hair tied in a high, loose bun. Smartly dressed in a grey skirt suit. Warm smoky quartz complexion and deep, dark eyes. Such a dark brown they were nearly black. She seemed as young as ever, but Reid could see the beginnings of crow's feet at the corners of her eyes.

"You can't just come back here!" Rigaldi was exclaiming.

"I am Maria Aquino and I am here for my client, Lina Valentino." Reid nearly laughed at the names. They'd all had names for using in the event of being apprehended. Besides Midas, who used a name similar to her real name, their names were rather goofy, but they'd served them well the few times they needed to use them. "You can't hold her without due cause and I can guarantee you will neither find due cause nor hear a peep from her! It's better just to let her go and concentrate on finding someone who is actually connected to the case."

"And what if we did have cause?"

"Do you?" It was a challenge to him. She was calling his bluff and he knew it. They had no evidence against her. She would never be so careless.

"I… Well…"

"I thought as much. So? Are you going to continue wasting all our time or are you going to do your job?" Midas was intimidating at the best of times and there, pouring all her strength into the performance, she was more than just intimidating. She was downright terrifying.

"No. You're right. There's a little paperwork for her to fill out. You can go fetch her…" Rigaldi, for all that he appeared to be in control, was thoroughly cowed.

"Good. Spence," she said, turning to Reid, "Thanks for letting me know." Her expression softened when she looked at him and her gaze made him uncomfortable. With a slight shrug, he turned and headed back to the observation room. "Spence? Don't you want to see her?"

Spencer paused.

"No."


	15. Chapter 15

It hadn't been easy for him to turn his back on her. To take himself away from where she was. Oh how desperately he longed to speak to her. To touch her. He missed the warmth of her small hands, the softness of her lips, her breath against his ear as she whispered her secrets to him… He didn't know if he loved her. He knew he cared about her. He knew she made him question everything he'd ever believed. When he was with her, all he'd thought was important suddenly seemed so much less so.

When the two women had left, Hotch followed Reid into the observation room.

"I think it's time you told me about your time on assignment here." Reid didn't know how to respond to his supervisor. If he started from the beginning… If he just left out his involvement in certain things… It still wouldn't work.

"What do you want to know?" It was safer if Hotch asked questions. No chance of him giving away too much.

"What was your assignment?"

"I was supposed to infiltrate a domestic terrorist cell."

"Why?"

"The group allegedly murdered numerous city officials and the bureau was concerned with mass casualties."

"Allegedly?"

"I never found any evidence that they were involved." Reid paused, thinking. It was probably safe to tell Hotch… "If anything, there was evidence they were trying to stop the attacks."

Hotch was quiet for a moment, thoughtful, even. "Why did you cease contact? Did it have something to do with your cover?"

"What cover?" Reid laughed dryly, "I was never undercover! They knew from the very beginning. The moment they saw me."

"What happened, Reid? Was all the information you sent false?"

"False? No. None of it was false. You don't understand, Hotch, they're not terrorists. They're not bad people. On Thursdays they set up vans in various locations around the city and serve food to the homeless. They run a shelter where homeless can go and have a hot shower and find clean clothes and print resumes so they can find a job. They offer a home to youths that don't have one! They don't care who you are or what you've done. They only care about who you're willing to become!" He didn't intend on the desperate edge to his voice. He didn't mean to say so much but the words poured out before he could stop them! The startled look on Hotch's face was more than enough to make him regret what he'd said.

"… What happened to you?" Hotch's voice was soft and for a moment, Reid didn't know what he was talking about. Then he understood. The scars. His personality. If the Family was so good, what happened to him?

"They're not the only ones out there… And there are some who wish they didn't operate the way they do."

"Why did you stop sending information?"

"There was nothing else to say. I told all that I could."

"Why didn't you come back then?"

"I wasn't done what I had to do."

"What did you have to do?" The question stung Reid and he wasn't sure how to answer. What was he there to do? Why didn't he go back? It was so hard to remember the things that happened so long ago. He'd met Lady and the Family had accepted him… And there was something about the sun… What was it?

All he could do in response was shake his head. Hotch sighed and rubbed his hand over his face, but he seemed to understand that there wasn't anything more Reid could say at that time. Dr. Martina had been right before: the Reid that came back was not the Reid who had left. This Reid was like a cup that was half full of oil and it didn't matter how much water Hotch poured in, the oil was heavier and the water would just keep overflowing.

Rossi saved them by knocking on the door. "Is everything alright in here?"

"We'll be there in a moment," Hotch replied. He put his hand on Reid's shoulder, yet another attempt to fill Reid with the feelings he thought he should have, and then stepped out of the room, Reid close behind.

"Well, that was a bust," J.J said as they emerged.

"Maybe not…" Hotch was thoughtful. The idea he was having was potentially dangerous, but it could also be their only solution. "Reid… You didn't want to see her, but do you think anyone else there would help us?"

"They'd all help," Reid said after a pause, "The pattern is one they were expecting even then." The pattern that not even the police had seen but Reid was sure existed. He pulled out his phone and dialed Garcia, setting it on speaker.

"Hello, boy wonder! What can I do for you on this day?" He loved that her voice was cheerful even when everything was terrible.

"Garcia, I want you to see if there have been any other deaths during the same weeks as the bombings. I don't know the specific causes of death, but the pattern should be a bombing, and then three more attacks that are all different. They may be the same day or a couple days apart and it would be the same pattern each week."

"That is both strangely vague yet alarmingly specific."

"You can eliminate any stabbings or shootings."

"Alright. Again, specific. There have been a lot of deaths. Are we looking at just murders? Or are we including suicides and accidents?"

"Include suicides and accidents."

"That's a big list. I'll go through it and call you back if I come up with anything."

"Thanks, Pen." The line went dead with a click and Reid looked around at the other agents. He took a deep breath and reached into the very bottom of his satchel. He withdrew a flip phone, which J.J recognized as the one he'd received in a mysterious package when he'd first returned.

His fingers typed a quick message. He knew the phone could only send one text and receive one call before it became nothing more than a paperweight. His one favour.

Less than a minute after he sent the text, the phone rang. He answered it and set it to speaker.

"Are you sure?" The familiar voice on the other end asked.

"I'm sure."

"You only get one, Spence. Don't waste it on this…" He closed his eyes at her words. He knew what she was saying. His one favour should have been to be allowed to return, but he had already chosen to give that up. His heart was torn, but he knew his rightful place was with the BAU.

"It's not a waste…"

Midas sighed. "The gates will be unlocked. Only FBI. No police. No trackers. Cellphone and car GPS off. Broken rules are worth a bullet." Reid knew the rules, but it was good for the others to hear them. The line went dead.

"Ready to meet the Family?"


	16. Chapter 16

A red dot flashed through the front window of the SUV as it passed through the gates. They were in the industrial district of Saint Paul, amongst the warehouses. They drove past buildings more and more dilapidated and entered a maze of shipping container towers. A tall, barbed wire fence surrounded an unusual collection of massive, barren buildings. The five buildings formed a semi-circle around a concrete courtyard. From above, the buildings would stand out, but for a sign on the wall that proclaimed "REGUS AND SONS SHIPPING INC."

"Stop," Reid said when he noticed the dot. He suspected he knew where it came from. Once both cars were inside the gates, they automatically closed. Reid unbuckled his seatbelt and clambered out of the vehicle. The red dot shifted to his forehead. Without raising his hands, he walked twenty feet ahead of the SUVs and stopped, looking around. There, against the sun, he saw a small silhouette on the roof of the building on the mid-right. Hawks preferred perch.

The red dot disappeared as the figure quickly deconstructed his weapon and stowed it back in its case. He vanished from sight for a moment and then reappeared over the edge of the roof, climbing swiftly down the ladder at the front of the industrial building. On the ground, he jogged towards Reid.

Nervous, other members of the BAU slowly and carefully stepped out of their vehicles. Reid stood with a confident casualness that they didn't recognize. He grinned lazily at the boy who came towards them, guitar case strapped to his back.

"It's been a long time, doc," the boy said, though 'boy' was perhaps a term too young. He was in his low twenties, with sun-kissed skin and dark brown hair. With the sun behind him, the BAU couldn't see his flinty grey eyes narrow in annoyance. Hawk had missed Spencer, but that didn't mean he was all too pleased about the man's return.

Spencer nodded towards the centre building and started walking. Hawk fell in a step behind him, glancing over his shoulder to make sure the BAU was following. If he was being honest, he didn't trust the BAU as far as he could throw them. But he had a ton of respect for Spence and if the man said they were fine, well, who was he to argue?

Internally, Spencer panicked. He'd perfected the calm, blank expression. He had to. If the people who were part of his life knew his emotions, they could be used against him. He'd been told more than once in the past that he wore his heart on his sleeve. He'd never been good at lying. Why did they ever think he could go undercover?

He paused a moment before he turned the handle on the double doors. They were solid steel and heavy. When he'd first come to this place, he'd struggled with them a bit. He'd been so weak then…

The appearance of the warehouse was a fallacy. Sure, it had been a warehouse once, and you could still see the remnants of that. Entering through the double doors brought you into a massive tiered room with vaulted ceilings. There were couches and chairs and a kitchenette throughout the room. A set of polished wood stairs were set on the left side of the room. There were four doors besides the main ones, two on the left and two on the right.

People were scattered throughout the room. Mostly they lounged about reading or playing card games at the little nook tables along the edges of the room. Spencer recognized most of them, but not all. It didn't bother him; he'd been gone a few months and the Lady was always picking up strays.

Although he didn't know them, it was clear that they knew him at least through rumour. It would be bad for him if those rumours made their way back to his coworkers. He had to keep reminding himself that he needed to stay on the straight and narrow. But he knew how the Lady operated. He'd asked a favour, but she never did anything for free. If he tried to take more than she was willing to give, he'd have to pay for it.

"Spence." Midas stepped out of the far door on the right side of the room. Her work room. He'd spent his fair share of time in there while she stitched cuts closed or set broken bones. Everything she touched turned to gold.

"Midas," Spencer returned.

"You're not really a lawyer, are you?" Rossi sounded a little peeved. Out of her business suit and into her regular clothes, it was pretty obvious she didn't have such a noble profession. The doctor wore a slimming black dress, cut in a low v-neck, and a white lab coat. Her hair was in a high ponytail rather than a bun and a pair of half-rim spectacles rested on her nose.

"Maybe not," she laughed in reply. Spencer's heart ached at the sound. Midas had become like family to him. Though she appeared strict, and her temper was fierce, she was warm and comforting. She was like a mother to all the Family. "So. You come here and you ask for our help with this case and you didn't bother to call first?" There was a sharp edge to her joking tone. She was mad. He understood that.

"I didn't think I'd see you."

"Hah! Even if you didn't look for us, do you think you can pass through without turning some stones? And you've even asked West for a favour before. Some of us felt that should've been your one favour. But the Lady, bless her little heart, figured West owned you one himself." Her spitting words made Spencer want to run away. She was more than man; she was furious.

He was quiet for a brief moment before he replied, "West owes me more than one."

Finally Midas smirked. She knew he was right. West owed Spence for more than could be repaid.

"What do you know so far?" Midas asked.

"I know the Lady knows what we need to know."

"She's your only lead?" She sounded surprised.

"If I had other leads, I'd be following them instead of standing here." Spencer hadn't meant his words to be so cold, but how could they not be? Did she think he wanted to be there? Did she think he was going to come back?

No. He couldn't do that… Could he?


	17. Chapter 17

"Get your techie on the phone and get her linked with our system," Midas nodded at Morgan and indicated the farthest door on the left of the room. Their surveillance and research room. It was set up much like Garcia's own room, but was run on a different system. Still, it showed Spencer that the Family was really willing to help the FBI if they were willing to let Garcia into their system.

Nervously, he took out his phone and dialed their geek, walking towards the door. The others were also on edge, but Spence wasn't worried. Leo, their tech wizard, was a cool guy. Incredibly brilliant but never in a way that made others feel stupid. Spencer knew he was guilty of doing that.

Once Morgan was gone, Reid spoke again. "I doubt your most important files would be kept so insecurely." It was almost a jest, as he knew Leo's system was one of the most secure in the world, but all systems were hackable given enough time and effort. Whatever the answer to this case was, there were no doubt paper files in the closet in the Lady's bedroom.

"You haven't lost your edge," Midas's voice was warm and she nodded towards the stairs where West descended with a large box in his hands.

"Haven't we met?" Rossi asked, looking up at West. Spencer had known Rossi would recognize him, assuming he was around. West and Spence were not as close as most people thought. They'd had a long-standing rivalry in the affections of the Lady. Before Spencer had joined the Family, West had been the Lady's right hand. After Spencer arrived, he replaced West as her right hand and also became her lover.

"We have indeed," West's smooth voice had a chilly air about it. "I'll admit I was a little surprised the Lady would allow the FBI into her home. But she always was one to feed the dog directly from the table."

"Should you really be one to talk? Aren't you only still here because of my kind heart?" Spencer shot back, equally cool. He'd had an opportunity to let West die without any repercussions from the Family, but had decided to save him. It was not all kindness though. He knew West would owe him a life debt, and West always paid his debts.

The handsome fellow put the box down on a large coffee table near the centre of the room and flipped open the lid. It was stuffed full of folders, each marked with the date the information had been discovered. The team started pulling them out, careful not to drop any pages.

"This is quite extensive…" J.J commented offhandedly.

"So is their system!" Garcia's voice rang out clear through the room. Morgan wheeled a flat screen on a stand out of the tech room and into the main hall. "They have the whole city wired and, if I'm not mistaken, most of the continent. Yes, folks, I said continent. And this guy won't give me any security tips for our system! What is up with that?"

"You have access to their files, though?"

"Yes, but it's a two-way street. I'm sorry Hotch. I couldn't stop them if I wanted to."

"It's not the first time we've been through your system," Leo purred from the doorway. Spencer wasn't sure what his real name was, but knew the Family called him Leo for his appearance and mannerisms. He was tall and slender, with a cat-like grace and low, rolling voice. Even his reddish-gold hair was long and thick, loose around his head like a mane.

"What? How? I haven't seen any footprints!" Garcia's voice rose shrilly.

"You have awful security." Reid chuckled at Leo's reply. They both knew Garcia's security was only a few steps below the Family's, but to Leo, anything less than perfect was awful.

"So what is all this?" Wright asked, waving a folder in the direction of the box.

"This is what we have on the Hunter," West replied.

"The Hunter?"

"The Hunter is an assassin. More or less. Think Kill Bill."

"He kidnaps young girls and trains them to kill people. He has a core group and those are the ones operating these attacks," Spencer said, opening the folder he held. He set it down on the table and the others leaned in to see. The first page was a list.

"The Rose that Blooms? The Hanging Ivy? The Lily on the Water? The Sunflower that Shines? What is this?" J.J asked, confusion etched onto her face.

"They're names."

"There's one blacked out. What's that about?" Rossi interjected.

"The Thistle that Stings," Spencer replied, a coldness creeping into his voice.

"Why's it crossed out?"

"Because she's dead."

"How can you be so sure? If these people are as intense as you suggest, is it possible she's still a threat?" Spencer could see Rossi's logic, but it was impossible.

"Because I killed her myself." The ice in his voice was hard. He stepped away from the group, running a hand over his face. In a way, he had killed her. All that she had been was dead, and a new woman reborn.

She'd been an important part of the Family since she'd turned rogue against the Hunter. But even in all the good she tried to do in the world, she had no qualms against taking a life. The difference between her ideals and those of the Hunter, were that he wanted her to take innocent lives, and she fought for justice against criminals.


	18. Chapter 18

Spencer had seen the Hunter from afar once. He was not overly tall, nor overly handsome, but he was charismatic and had a way of talking that could make you feel incredibly important. Spence had heard the words he said, seen his actions. He saw the way women tumbled at his feet. That day, the Rose that Blooms, Maria Rosa, stood by his side. The woman the Hunter surrounded himself were notoriously beautiful, and Maria was no different with her long legs and tawny skin, brown corkscrew curls piled high on her head. She looked like she'd stepped out of a magazine, and Reid was not the only person who noticed.

That was how the Hunter operated. He stalked the families of the girls before he took them. He preferred girls who had older siblings, so he could see what their potential would be. Maria Rosa came from an upper-middle class family. Her father, Javier, was a top real-estate agent and her mother had a series of exercise videos. She was not a high-risk victim. The case of her abduction was highly publicized, but the Hunter had disappeared without a trace.

In the folder, there was information about them. Their births names, their places of birth, their MO's, and a photo. The only one missing was the Thistle that Stings. But she wasn't a threat.

"Garcia, the types of death you should be looking for are suicide or murder by hanging, poison, and arson."

"That gives me a lot to go on actually. Give me a second…" The sound of furious typing filled the air and they could see Garcia's face filling the screen, determination on her face. It really was only a few moments before she had an "ah-ha" moment and she leaned back. "So the pattern goes bomb, arson, hanging, poison."

"How many days apart?"

"No days, kiddo. They all happen on the same day. Just about the same time too..." She sounded chilled, and Spencer didn't blame her. Each week, more than four people died and the police had no idea to connect the dots.

"You'd have to be an idiot not to connect them!" Rossi exclaimed.

"No, you wouldn't…" Reid started.

"Two of the arsons were supposedly accidental, three poisonings and all the hangings were called suicides, and the rest… They had people that seemed likely and didn't have alibis. The fact that they can be connected is what's impressive. You have to know the pattern if there to see it." Garcia cut in, the horror in her voice.

"The Hunter's been preparing for this for a long time," Midas sounded tired.

"Do we know where he is?"

"No, but you know how to find out." Spencer did indeed know how to find out. Saiko would know, and if he didn't, he'd know who did. "Your things are upstairs. I'm not going to say you have to, but I do recommend taking the Lady."

Spencer sighed and headed for the stairs. Up two flights to a solid walnut door. He didn't know before he opened it, though he suspected he should've.

The large room was painted mint green and had tall, white baseboards. The room was filled with Georgian style décor in light or white woods. In a rocking chair near a window, the Lady was curled up, eyes closed, red hair loose and wild around her. She was naked but for a shawl wrapped around her.

"Love," Spencer said, just loud enough to wake her, "we're going for a walk." It was neither a question nor an order, but rather more of a suggestion. She slowly opened her bright blue eyes and stared at him owlishly. It was a few moments before she smiled and unhurriedly climbed out of her chair. Looking at her then, Spencer could see how she'd be an ideal woman to many men. She was short, remarkably busty, with a slender waist and pale, smooth skin. She was a perfect target for the Hunter. All the more reason Spencer had to protect her.

He didn't wait for her to start getting dressed before he crossed to an armoire and pulled out a long black pea coat, black leather gloves, and a dark brown paper-boy cap. His standard uniform. On a hook hung a mask, but he didn't need it for this job. By the time he withdrew his final object, a long thin wooden box, the Lady had finished dressing in a short white dress and brown waist cincher. She wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and slipped her feet into pale pink flats. She whipped some black mascara onto her long eyelashes and was ready to go.

Spencer found himself struggling to avoid looking at her. He knew that if he watched her too long he would never want to leave her side again. She loved him in a way no other had loved him before. She had done all she could to make him happy. It was hard to turn your back on that kind of dedication.


	19. Chapter 19

"I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING!" the man screamed, his voice cracking in pain. Spencer drew another long, thin line down his chest, blood sputtering out where the sharp blade touched.

"Saiko, Saiko, Saiko…" he sighed, "You can't lie to me. How do I find the Hunter?" He skimmed the blade down Saiko's chest again, barely slicing through the skin. The cuts weren't deep enough to kill him, but would cause extreme pain for days. "I can do this all day."

"Stop! Please! I'll tell you!" Spencer pulled the blade away and waited. They'd been there for about an hour already and the information broker's chest was a patchwork of bleeding cuts. Beneath those, were the faint traces of scars from Spencer's previous visits.

It wasn't always like that. Sometimes information was traded. Spencer would share what he knew in exchange for what Saiko knew. Sometimes it was good old fisticuffs. But this was too valuable. The Hunter had no qualms about killing anyone who disobeyed or endangered him.

"They say that the hunter is in the forest, searching for the doctor's garden. He thinks he'll find thistle growing there. But the doctor has already plucked it."

"Who says that?"

"The leprechauns!" Saiko's wicked cackled broke through the still air. Everything about this man was both terrifying and comical from his slick black suit against the brightly coloured office, which flowed in a state of constant disarray. He used to wear a tailcoat and top hat, but Spencer took his hat and then the tailcoat didn't suit his appearance anymore. Saiko valued his appearance.

"Who are the leprechauns, Saiko?" Spencer thrust the knife forward into his neck.

"The Irish! The Irish! The ones at Seanachies!" Spencer knew the pub. It was owned by a former IRA member. Men and women fleeing Ireland lest they be charged for their crimes frequented there. Spencer had been there more than a few times to track down information. That's a thing about drunks: everyone assumes they won't remember in the morning. But the roughs at Seanachies used this to their advantage, pretending to be drunk to get information. It's what protected them from gangs. They supplied information in exchange for safety.

"Good boy," Spencer said, patting his cheek. He wiped the blade off on Saiko's sleeve and tucked it back into it's case. He slipped the case into his inside jacket pocket and buttoned the jacket shut. Blood spattered the front of his white shirt and along his cuffs. If any civilians saw it, there would be no end of trouble.

With a glance at Lady, he turned and stalked out of the room. Saiko's office was on the top floor of a McMansion. He'd had the building and grounds constructed to match the mansion from Scarface. It was suitable considering where he'd earned most of his money and the amount of blood that had been shed there. Most folks paid Saiko for information. The Family was an exception.

Spencer's motorcycle remained untouched, but that didn't surprise him. The people in this neighbourhood would recognize it and know to leave it be or face his wrath. Once, a new kid from a gang tried to steal his bike. He dropped the kid off a bridge. The kid was fine; Spencer knew how deep the water off that bridge was. But no one touched his bike again.

He and the Lady each put on a helmet and climbed on.

The ride back to HQ took little time. Saiko's place was only a few miles away. If they weren't in a hurry and weren't planning to mess him up too badly, sometimes they would walk. But the motorcycle was faster and Saiko didn't like it if Spencer lingered after beating him up.

The FBI were still pouring over the files on the table, but they looked up when he walked in.

"What did he have to say?" Midas asked. He saw the way her eyes passed quickly over him and Lady, checking for injuries. There were none. Saiko wouldn't try to put a finger on Spencer if Lady were there, and no one dared to hurt Lady. She had a reputation for not being much of a lady.

"Leprechauns," he replied, walking past them and up the stairs. He needed to get changed and get his shirt into water before the blood set. Lady didn't follow him. She lingered in the main area, looking owlishly at the BAU. All the members of the team felt unnerved by her stare. She'd heard so much about them. Spencer loved them. Even if he couldn't remember it, she knew how big his heart was. Even if he thought he was a monster, she knew that he was really a saint. Anything he'd done to hurt anyone, it was because she asked him and he would do anything for the ones he loved.

And he loved her. She'd thought about it a great deal and had come to the conclusion that he definitely did. Even if he pretended to hate her. Even if it hurt him to be in the same room as her, it was because he loved her. She'd taken advantage of that.

The favour she offered him… She hoped it would be for her to come be with him. Wherever he went, she would follow, even if it meant dissolving the Family, because no one had loved her the way he had. Not West, nor the Hunter, nor anyone else who'd ever claimed so. Only he truly loved her.


End file.
